


it comes back to you

by taywen



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Daud, Established Relationship, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Corvo Attano, Low Chaos Daud, M/M, Royal Spymaster!Daud, background Emily Kaldwin/Wyman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 21:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taywen/pseuds/taywen
Summary: “But you must have some humourous stories from Emily’s childhood,” Wyman presses.“Well,” Corvo says, “have you noticed that Emily only calls me ‘Father’?”“Father,” Emily hisses, at the same time that Daud growls, “Corvo,” both of them similar degrees of mortified. They exchange a rare look of commiseration, the likes of which are always brought on by Corvo thinking he’s funny - a Corvo who thinks he’s hilarious is theworstCorvo - but swiftly look away again.“Oh, this I have to hear,” Wyman says, obviously delighted.Corvo/Spymaster!Daud and Emily (with bonus Wyman) in the years between the first and second games.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from the Imagine Dragons song of the same name! written for [this](http://dishonored-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/446.html?thread=521150#cmt521150) prompt on the kink meme:
> 
> "Corvo/Daud - old, established relationship
> 
> i'd like to read something with the standard spymaster!daud au (or otherwise present/working for the crown in some way) but set during dh2 when corvo and daud have been together for many years now and have grown old together.
> 
> no sex, please! reference to daud's asexuality could be a bonus.  
> no abusive behaviour. i'd like a completely healthy relationship."
> 
> also, I know Nothing about Wyman so if I have completely botched their characterization, please forgive me!

“So…” Wyman begins, a sly lilt to their voice, to match the glint in their eyes. It is possibly what drew Emily to the young noble in the first place; certainly, their wit is a point in their favour, as far as Daud is concerned. Not that he has any say in who Emily chooses to spend time with.

Daud fixes them with a look; if Wyman didn’t so obviously hold Emily’s favour, it might have been a glare, but only Corvo can get away with glaring at Emily’s lover and even he is not afforded much leeway for fatherly oversight. Which means Daud’s usual practice of intimidating pestering nobles into submission isn’t feasible, despite the fact that Wyman has invaded his office on the thinnest of pretenses.

Wyman smiles back, all charm, though they have to know it won’t work on Daud. “I was just wondering how long you and Corvo have been together.”

“A while,” Daud says shortly. Wyman is hardly the first noble curious about Daud and Corvo’s relationship. They haven’t started with asking who fucks the other, at least, though to be fair Lady Pendleton had only dared to ask that after an improbable number of drinks and, Daud is reasonably certain, a good deal of egging on by various other nobles testing the newly-inherited Pendleton’s character.

“It had to have been after you were appointed Spymaster,” Wyman muses, unperturbed by Daud’s curtness. “You don’t strike me as the type who seeks out these kinds of relationships so… I’m guessing Corvo initiated it? Did he kiss you out of the blue one day?”

Daud scoffs. “No.”

Wyman grins, as if Daud had done exactly what they wanted. “Daud, you old wolf! So you’re the one who kissed him?”

Daud narrows his eyes, which at last seems to dissuade Wyman from pursuing that line of inquiry. The noble’s smile slips and they start to look uncertain. They’ve lasted longer than most nobles of Emily’s court, who all know that Daud was the Knife of Dunwall, though not that he killed the late Empress. They suspect, but Emily had only condemned Burrows for having her mother killed, not the assassin he’d hired to do it. His reputation still precedes him, many bloodless years later.

“That’s none of your business, Wyman,” Daud says, not bothering with titles since Wyman has dispensed with them as well.

Wyman sighs, the sound drawn-out and contrived. “As you say, Daud. Emily did warn me that you wouldn’t be moved. I’ll leave you to this— spying business, then.”

“As you like.” Daud moderates his tone back to something more neutral, watching as his visitor makes their way to the hall. “Oh, Wyman—”

The noble pauses before the door, their hand on the knob. “Yes?”

“I know the Empress thinks that Corvo kissed me first, so should I assume from your previous questions that you agree?”

Wyman grins again, not looking the least bit repentant at being caught out. Emily’s been trying to get the truth out of Corvo for years, though she’s never come to Daud himself. There are too many things between them to ever make their company _easy_. “Well, I thought so too. But your snort earlier makes me think that maybe it was you who kissed him first?”

Daud shakes his head, unable to keep his small, wry smile hidden. “I can only advise the two of you to keep the business of covert information gathering to me.”

“Duly noted, Spymaster Daud.” Wyman nods their head in a mockery of a bow and ducks out of Daud’s office.

* * *

The first time Corvo kissed him, it was little more than a dry press of his lips to Daud’s cheek, but it caught Daud by surprise. He didn’t flinch away, but he stopped mid-sentence and looked at Corvo.

Corvo tensed guiltily. “Sorry,” he said quickly, stepping back out of Daud’s space. “I—”

“It’s all right,” Daud said.

“—didn’t think. Sorry,” Corvo repeated, and looked ready to continue blurting out apologies.

“Corvo,” Daud said, catching his arm before the man could backpedal any further. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

Corvo stopped his guilty tirade, staring at Daud for several long moments. “That’s what you said about having sex,” Corvo said at length.

That was— fair. Daud had wanted badly for things to work out between them, in the beginning. He’d done other, far more unpleasant things, to achieve his goals; he was merely indifferent to sex, and had come to care a great deal about Corvo. It seemed a reasonable enough exchange.

Corvo’s face had gone blank when Daud had explained that to him and his next words were spoken carefully, with barely-contained anger, outlining in no uncertain terms that if Daud didn’t _want_ to have sex, they wouldn’t have sex. That that wasn’t something Corvo was willing to compromise on.

“But you want to have sex,” Daud had pointed out then.

“And Emily wants to eat cake for every meal, but that’s not happening either,” Corvo had retorted, and that had been that.

“That was months ago,” Daud said now. “I mean it.”

Corvo nodded, though he still didn’t look entirely convinced, and changed the subject.

(The first time Daud kissed Corvo, pressing a casual peck to his mouth a few days after Corvo had done the same, the Royal Protector flushed bright red and stammered uselessly for half an hour. It wasn’t until he caught sight of Daud’s self-satisfied smirk that he finally snapped out of it.)

* * *

“But you must have some humourous stories from Emily’s childhood,” Wyman presses the next evening as they all sit down for dinner in the Empress’ private dining room. “Emily must have been a—”

“A what, dear Wyman?” Emily asks, false-sweet.

“—spirited child?” Wyman suggests, with the air of someone thinking better of their answer at the last moment.

Emily’s gaze flicks to Daud. “My childhood wasn’t all sunshine and roses,” is all she says. Even two years ago, there would have been some reference to the murder that had catalyzed everything, oblique or blatant depending on Emily’s mood. This reminder is particularly tame in comparison.

“Well,” Corvo says into the slightly-awkward silence, “have you noticed that Emily only calls me ‘Father’?”

“ _Father_ ,” Emily hisses, at the same time that Daud growls, “ _Corvo_ ,” both of them similar degrees of mortified. They exchange a rare look of commiseration, the likes of which are always brought on by Corvo thinking he’s funny - a Corvo who thinks he’s hilarious is the _worst_ Corvo - but swiftly look away again.

“Oh, this I have to hear,” Wyman says, obviously delighted.

Emily makes a disgusted noise and turns her attention to the meal— a Morlish dish that Daud vaguely recognizes but cannot name. There have been an unusual number of recipes from Morley gracing the Empress’ table since Wyman arrived.

“Emily used to call me ‘Dad’, which, of course, led to Daud thinking that she was talking to him a few times. His name sounds rather close to Dad, after all,” Corvo begins with poorly-contained glee.

“Understandable,” Wyman agrees, straight-faced. “I can see how that could lead to some confusion.”

“Precisely. It could’ve happened to anyone, Em,” Corvo adds.

“Just get it over with,” Emily mutters sourly.

“So one day— in Parliament, of course—” Corvo pauses for dramatic effect, and also because Daud just stepped on his foot, digging his heel in hard.

“Of course,” Wyman prompts.

Corvo smiles at Daud, that rare smile that he seems to reserve exclusively for Emily and, less frequently, Daud himself. It’s downright unfair that he deploys it to such devastating effect when he’s being such a little shit. The instant Daud lets up on his foot, distracted, Corvo tucks his feet out of Daud’s reach, all without giving any indication that he moved at all.

“Where was I?” He turns smoothly back to Wyman, all conspiratorial glee again. “Oh yes, a session in Parliament. Daud was going over some proposal or other, and when it was Emily’s turn to speak, she went, ‘We agree’—”

“I don’t sound like that,” Emily says, interrupting Corvo’s falsetto.

“When you were younger your voice was higher,” Corvo says loftily.

“Yeah, but the Empress didn’t sound like a grown man pretending to be a six year old either,” Daud says.

“I’m sure you had a voice then that was just as lovely as your voice now,” Wyman says loyally. Daud suppresses the urge to roll his eyes, and then again when Emily actually smiles at Wyman like that was a sweet thing to say.

“All right, all right, everyone’s a critic,” Corvo grumbles. He clears his throat, and continues in a less egregious mimicry of Emily’s voice, “She said, ‘We agree with Spymaster _Dad’s_ proposal’—”

“Oh my god,” Wyman says, a mixture of horrified and amused. They press a hand to their mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my _god_ , Em, I’m sorry—” Their words dissolve into muffled laughter, their shoulders shaking as they duck Emily’s half-hearted smacks.

“And that’s why Emily only calls me ‘Father’, now,” Corvo concludes smugly, and digs in to his meal.

“We will never speak of this again,” Emily says, in a poor imitation of the voice she uses on official, imperial matters; there’s a smile on her face and an obvious laugh hiding behind the words, so she probably isn’t as upset as she’s pretending to be. That’s a good thing; immediately after the fact, she’d been furious about the slip up.

“Actually, one good thing did come of it,” Daud says. “Everyone was so shocked that they put the motion through without protest.”

“Oh, that was probably your plan all along, right?” Wyman asks, grinning at Emily.

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

* * *

Daud was the one to find Emily after the Parliament meeting was over, though not for lack of trying on Corvo’s part. Daud had left him combing the Tower’s halls for his daughter, who had pulled a disappearing act as soon as they arrived back. He paused in the threshold of his office, warily eying the bundle of gangly limbs curled up in the chair reserved for visitors.

He hadn’t known what to make of Emily when he’d first come to the Tower; she was younger than any of the Whalers he’d recruited before, and he’d never actually murdered a parent before any of their eyes. Now, she was closer in age to those abandoned or orphaned children he’d trained before, but he still wasn’t entirely certain how to deal with her. She tolerated him with varying degrees of disdain on good days; he was certain she hated him on bad ones, not that he could blame her for it. He understood the feeling.

“Well, come in,” Emily snapped, her voice muffled by the knees she had pulled up to her chest. She glared at him, eyes wet with tears.

Daud did so, closing the door behind himself.

“Corvo was looking for you—” he began, because Corvo was usually a safe topic.

“You’re not my dad!” It came out angrily, almost a shout, punctuated by the thump of her feet hitting the floor as she stood up. Her face was still damp, but she seemed to have stopped crying; the fists balled at her side suggested she had moved on to anger.

“I know that,” Daud said with a calm he didn’t feel. “I can get him,” he tried again.

“No, I don’t want him to—” Emily cut herself off, looking away. Even with most of the room between them, Daud could hear her shuddering breaths and see the unsteady rise and fall of her shoulders.

“Just because Corvo and I are in a relationship doesn’t mean—” Daud said slowly, as Emily dashed a sleeve impatiently across her eyes.

“Corvo’s _mine_!”

Daud fell silent, uncertain what to say. Corvo would surely have taken Emily into his arms by now and moved on to comforting her, but Daud wasn’t her father, and he was the murderer of her mother besides.

Emily closed her eyes, trying to control herself. Her breaths stuttered as she inhaled, but gradually the sobs ceased as she calmed her breathing. Daud stood before her, his hands hanging useless at his sides, and waited it out.

“I don’t think of you as my father,” Emily said at length, her voice steady.

“I know that,” Daud repeated. “And I— I’m not trying to be. It’s my duty to protect you, and I’ll do it gladly, but I’m no parent.”

Emily sniffed, wiping at her face with a sleeve again. “All those orphans you picked up suggest otherwise.”

“I trained them into assassins,” Daud pointed out.

Emily’s eyes flashed at that, but all she said was, “I could hardly forget.”

“Empress. You’re still the most important person in Corvo’s life. Whatever is between Corvo and I doesn’t change that.”

“I _know_ that,” Emily said with that particularly disdainful tone that teenagers took when adults told them something patently obvious. Except something about the look on her face made Daud think that perhaps she hadn’t known that.

“I’d step in front of a bullet for you as well,” Daud added, going for broke.

Emily nodded, accepting that as her due, which it was. “You’re supposed to foil assassination attempts before they get to that point, though,” she said. “You certainly have enough experience on the other side of things.”

That was fair. “I live to serve,” Daud said, and it only came out sounding half as sardonic as he meant it.

Emily narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t tell Corvo about this.”

“I won’t.”

“Then this never happened, Spymaster _Daud_.”

* * *

Daud checks his pocket watch - a gaudy, gilded thing that was a gift from Emily several years past - for the third time in the last twenty minutes or so. He could check one of the clocks displayed at intervals throughout the waiting area behind the throne room - and Dunwall Tower in general - but he’s gotten into the habit of using his pocket watch. The pinched look of annoyance that passes briefly over Emily’s face every time he does it in her presence makes carrying the ridiculous thing around worth it.

“Wyman will miss their ship, at this rate,” Daud remarks idly, just to watch the way Corvo’s face darkens. He doesn’t need to be here, of course; Emily wouldn’t even require Corvo to attend her lover’s departure, but since Daud knew Corvo would come anyway, he’d thought to keep Corvo company.

“Perhaps I should go check on them,” Corvo says, making to rise from the armchair.

“Actually, the ship will wait. It was commissioned by Lord Wyman.” Daud smirks in the face of Corvo’s glare.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You could go check on them,” Daud allows. “I’m not certain who would be more upset if you got an eyeful, however, you or the Empress—”

Laughter, drifting down from the library beyond Emily’s room, followed by Wyman’s tread on the floor above, forestall any retaliation Corvo might have made. Emily’s footsteps are silent, or at least inaudible next to Wyman’s heavier steps. Hers should be, after all the training Corvo and Daud, to a lesser extent, have given her.

“I’ll see you in a few months. Half a year, at most,” Wyman says as they descend the stairs. “I can probably be here for the memorial if you change your mind—”

Emily kisses their cheek. “No, you have to take care of things back in Morley first.”

The couple makes their way to throne room, barely sparing Corvo and Daud a glance. They pause just outside the door, drawing close again. Corvo crosses his arms as they embrace, ignoring their audience.

“I think I can see the ship from here,” Corvo says, craning his neck in a decidedly obnoxious manner, as if he could even see the Wrenhaven, much less the docks near the Tower, from just inside the throne room.

“Corvo,” Daud says mildly, drawing the man’s attention. He’s still got a disgruntled look on his face, his expression entirely unguarded, so it’s easy see the way his eyes widen when Daud presses their mouths together. Corvo’s usually the one who kisses Daud, after all.

Emily’s theatrical gag a few moments later signifies that she and Wyman are done, for the moment, but Corvo follows him when Daud makes to step back. They’ve been busy enough lately that he can’t quite recall the last time they’d done this, and Daud enjoys the intimacy of kissing, so he doesn’t try to end it. Only Emily and Wyman are around to see, in any case, so Daud needn’t worry about loose-tongued servants or guards—

Wyman’s piercing whistle finally breaks through and Corvo steps away abruptly, his cheeks lightly flushed. He coughs, and busies himself with putting his uniform to rights, not that Daud had done much to muss it.

“Did you just wolf whistle at us?” Daud asks Wyman, scowling.

Wyman grins. “Sorry, I scrubbed the last two minutes from my mind, so I have no idea.”

Daud snorts in spite of himself. “I’m sure.”

Emily draws Wyman back to her, the pair of them whispering too low for Daud or Corvo to hear. Corvo still looks a little dazed, so even if he could hear what they were saying, Daud doubts he’d be able to make sense of it.

He allows himself a brief smirk, gone before Wyman steps away and Emily turns to go back into her suite; Corvo isn’t the only one who knows how to use his charms sparingly to distract his partner.

* * *

Corvo broached the topic of assisting with Emily’s training when Daud came to cajole him to bed. They both had a habit of working late, but if one of them noticed the time they would try to get the other to sleep at a relatively reasonable hour.

Daud paused, his hand raised halfway to stifle a yawn. “Pardon?”

“Emily wants you to help train her,” Corvo repeated patiently. He was giving Daud that look, the one he thought made him look innocent and Daud more inclined to acquiesce.

Daud blinked, digesting that. He and Emily would never be close, and Corvo had proven himself the superior swordsman, so why—? “Because I’m a real assassin?”

“Well, you aren’t any longer,” Corvo said. “And of course that isn’t the reason.”

Daud squinted at him. Corvo seemed to be in earnest, but maybe he’d been drinking too much coffee again.

“You should take this opportunity to get to know each other better,” Corvo coaxed.

“That’s absurd,” Daud said, the words slipping out before he could stop them; he must have been more tired than he’d thought. But really, there was no way Emily wanted to get to know him better, and Daud respected and understood her position.

Corvo scowled. “Daud—”

“If it’s not because I am - _was_ \- an assassin, then it must be because the Empress wants to hit me as hard as she likes,” Daud concluded.

“Just give this a chance—”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” Daud bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling back when Corvo fairly beamed at him. Thomas had pointed out recently that Daud was conditioned to smile back when Corvo smiled at him, and it was disturbingly true. “When?”

“Tomorrow night,” Corvo said, sounding far too giddy at the prospect for a man of his age, and for the late hour.

“Well, we’d better get to sleep, then. I don’t know if I can keep up with a spirited young woman like the Empress without proper rest.”

“I just have to finish this,” Corvo protested, looking down at the file on his desk.

“Tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow, it’s two in the morning—”

“Corvo.”

“I’m almost done—”

“If I don’t get at least four hours of sleep, I won’t help,” Daud threatened, though he had no intention of actually following through.

Corvo sighed gustily and capped his inkwell, making a great deal of unnecessary noise as he sorted the papers on his desk, then pushed himself to his feet. “Well, if you’re so worried about making a good showing, I suppose I have no choice but to go along with you.”

“Thank you,” Daud said, and managed to keep most of his sarcasm out of it. He wasn’t successful enough, from the glare Corvo shot him.

* * *

With Wyman back in Morley, things return to some semblance of normalcy. There are still preparations to be made for the memorial, but Emily’s schedule is no longer so disrupted. She seems more subdued as well: a combination of Wyman’s absence and the upcoming anniversary of her mother’s murder.

Daud says nothing about it, and continues as he always has. There’s no shortage of intelligence to sift through and distill into a coherent report to give to Emily and Corvo. Morley’s usual separatist rumblings seem to have quieted some as news of Emily’s involvement with Wyman spreads; Gristol, and Dunwall in particular, seems less approving, but high society still looks with suspicion on Daud and Corvo, so it isn’t much of a surprise. The aristocrats should be glad Wyman is at least one of their own, not some Batista gutter rat without a title, but all of them wouldn’t even be satisfied if Emily took up with the son of some Gristolian noble.

Politics and business in Tyvia continue as usual, at least, unconcerned with who the Empress spends her time with. The memorial is of greater concern to them; it seems that every ruler and noble in the Isles looking to curry favour with Emily intends to send some sort of tribute for the memorial.

But the reports coming from Serkonos - and Karnaca in particular - are troubling.

Daud has never met Luca Abele, but Billie had. She’d considered him the worst sort of spoiled, self-entitled noble; he is, by most accounts, draining Karnaca dry. But trade continues to flourish with Dunwall, the silver flowing even more abundantly than before, so Daud keeps his misgivings to himself. Emily and Corvo have enough problems at home without poking the bloodfly nest abroad.

But the situation deteriorates with each subsequent correspondence. The Royal Conservatory has been shuttered for close to a year now. The Grand Guard treats Karnacans with casual brutality. Clashes between the Guard, a rising gang called the Howlers, and the Overseers are ever increasing. Bloodfly infestations and deaths continue to rise every year. The deplorable working conditions of the silver miners are another cause for concern, and the list goes on.

And then his agents stop sending reports. Daud waits a few days, to allow for inclement weather or some other unforeseen delays, before approaching Emily about it.

“ _All_ of your agents?” Emily asks, when Daud brings the matter to her attention. She frowns faintly. “Maybe you should go yourself. Weren’t some of those agents former assassins?”

Daud nods, stifling his worry. Rulfio and Rinaldo can take care of themselves.

“Corvo and Thomas can take care of things here, in your absence. You can leave as soon as you’re ready,” Emily concludes.

“The memorial,” Daud says. He hasn’t been looking forward to it - none of them have - but it feels wrong to miss it.

Emily purses her lips. “I hardly think you’d be one to forget what happened that day,” she says at last. “You should go.”

Still, Daud hesitates. But when he receives an urgent missive from Rulfio the next day, requesting Daud’s help, he has little choice in the matter. Those most familiar with Serkonos are already there; and Rulfio was— _is_ — one of Daud’s strongest men. If he needs help with some witch’s coven, Daud is the only sensible option.

Corvo musters a smile when Daud tells him he plans to go, though it’s a pale imitation of the one Daud knows and loves. It always is, this time of year. “You’ve dealt with witches before,” he says. The entire affair with Delilah and Billie had come out some years ago, thanks to one of his idiot subordinates mentioning it offhand to Corvo. “I’m sure you’ll figure this out and be back in time for the memorial.”

“I can wait until after—” Daud starts, although he doesn’t want to. Rulfio wouldn’t have sent for his help if the matter wasn’t urgent. It’ll be close to a month since he sent the letter by the time Daud reaches Karnaca as it is.

“No, no.” Corvo waves him off, frowning. “If there’s another person marked by the Outsider causing trouble, we need to know.”

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” Daud promises.

* * *

The day seemed to pass at once too slowly and far too swiftly. His anticipation made the day’s meeting tedious; he was curious about what Corvo was teaching Emily. He hadn’t told Emily about the Outsider’s mark, and if Emily remembered the numerous times Daud and his men had used their powers in front of her that day, she made no mention of it.

And then, before he knew it, Daud was standing in an abandoned alley down by the docks, dressed down in a nondescript outfit over a layer of body armour. Emily and Corvo arrived a few minutes later, their footsteps silent. Had Daud not been expecting them, he probably wouldn’t have noticed their approach.

“Empress.” Daud inclined his head.

“Spymaster,” Emily returned.

“Daud thinks you want him to help because you want the excuse to hit him, Em, but that can’t be true,” Corvo said, handing over his folding blade.

“No,” Emily said, engaging the blade with practiced ease, “that’s definitely a part of it.”

Daud had expected as much. He drew his sword - a standard issue Watch blade - and settled into a fighting stance. Emily mirrored him, her stance a perfect copy of Corvo’s.

Corvo frowned, stepping between them. “You should use your blade to defend yourself, or another, not to exact revenge.” His tone was thick with disapproval. Daud fought not to roll his eyes.

“Father,” Emily protested.

“Her Majesty won’t have to hold back against me,” Daud pointed out. “It’s one thing to say not to hold back and another to expect the Empress to attack you as an enemy.”

“I wouldn’t actually kill him,” Emily said.

Daud scoffed. “As if you could.”

Corvo turned his frown on Daud; he actually looked offended. “Who was the one begging for mercy when we last fought?” He looked back at Emily before Daud could reply. “Put him in his place.” He stepped back, clearing the space between them.

Daud allowed himself to smirk where Corvo couldn’t see, though from the way Emily’s brows furrowed, she noticed it.

“You’re not as subtle as you think you are,” Emily informed him as soon as she had him pinned a few minutes later.

“No?” Daud raised his eyebrows as she released him, and bent to retrieve his sword. “Corvo fell for it.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Emily said impatiently, ignoring Corvo’s spluttering. “I won’t hold back against you, but you’re holding back against _me_.” She lunged at him again on the last word, barely allowing Daud enough time to straighten and get his sword up.

Their blades locked, Emily pressing in hard. She was stronger than Daud expected, and nearly of a height with him, so the only real advantage he had was his greater bulk. He grunted as she forced him back a step, then leaned in with all his strength.

He nearly went sprawling as Emily suddenly disengaged, darting back with a speed Daud knew he couldn’t match without resorting to the mark. He got his feet back and closed with her again, eyes narrowed.

Emily grinned, baring her teeth at him, and met him blow for blow.

* * *

By the time Daud realizes who the true power is behind the coven of witches, it’s too late. He manages to evade Ashworth’s trap and get out of the Royal Conservatory with Rinaldo and Rulfio, but the loudspeakers of Karnaca are already blaring about the ascension of Empress _Delilah_ and the dethroning of the usurper, Emily Kaldwin, when Daud emerges from the safe house the following day.

“How did this happen?” Daud demands, but his men don’t reply. It was a miracle Rulfio had remained conscious long enough to follow Daud out of the Conservatory; if he’d had to carry both of them the whole way to this bolt-hole on the edge of the Dust District— Well, it wouldn’t have happened.

Guilt has been a common companion since Daud murdered Jessamine Kaldwin, but it curdles in his chest now. He failed Emily and Corvo. They could very well be dead, though surely if they were, the news would be repeating every few minutes. That’s what Daud tells himself as he seeks out supplies to tend to his men and information about Delilah and her allies, the announcements about the new Empress playing on a loop wherever he goes.

Two weeks later, Rulfio and Rinaldo are hobbling around the apartment, though they’re confined to its walls. The witches had cut off the pair’s left hands, severing the arcane bond they shared with Daud, in addition to the various other tortures they’d inflicted. Without the ability to transverse and limited regular mobility, they can’t leave: Daud had chosen a bloodfly-infested building for a reason, clearing out the top floor only to deter people from finding them.

Rulfio is a terrible patient, and Rinaldo is little better; by the time Corvo crashes through the balcony, haggard and _furious_ , Daud’s seriously contemplating breaking his self-imposed restriction on murder.

“How dare you,” Corvo snarls, pinning Daud to the wall by his throat. The distinctive folding blade that Daud has only seen a handful of times since their duel in the Flooded District gleams in Corvo’s other hand, perilously close to his eye, but Daud finds he isn’t afraid. He was, then, but he isn’t now. Corvo has never struck him, not since he dealt the final blow that drove Daud from the Chamber of Commerce, and Daud doesn’t think he will today, but if he does— Daud will deserve it.

“I didn’t know,” Daud rasps, dimly aware of Rulfio moving closer and Rinaldo shouting in the background. “I didn’t—”

“You said Delilah was gone! You said—” Corvo’s grip slackens, and Daud’s heels meet the floor once more. He sucks in a breath, then another, as Corvo sags against him, pressing his face against Daud’s shoulder. He’s trembling subtly; a moment later, his blade hits the floor with a metallic thunk.

“I’m sorry,” Daud says, wrapping his arms around Corvo’s shaking frame. “I thought she was—” He stops himself; it doesn’t matter now. Delilah’s back, somehow, and nothing can change that at present.

“She turned Emily to stone. I don’t know if we can turn her back, the Outsider didn’t—” Corvo chokes out a sob, his hands fisting in Daud’s shirt; there’s a suspicious wetness against Daud’s shoulder that he pretends not to notice.

“I’m sorry, Corvo,” he says again, tightening his embrace.

Rulfio and Rinaldo make themselves scarce, disappearing into the bathroom, presumably. It’s the only room with an actual door besides the front one, now that Corvo’s destroyed the balcony doors in spectacular fashion.

Daud holds Corvo for a long time. He’s shaking almost as hard as Corvo; he’d thought he would never see him again, and he’s still half-convinced that this is a dream. But surely his unconscious mind couldn’t conjure the exact shape of Corvo’s body, the way he seems to smell of Serkonos despite the fact that he hadn’t been back since before Jessamine died, or the texture of his hair. How it always seems to get in Daud’s eye, or his mouth, despite the fact that Corvo had cut off that unruly mop a few years into Emily’s reign.

At length, Corvo pulls back. He keeps his grip on Daud, and stays close enough that they’re essentially breathing the same air. His earlier fury is still present, but he seems more focused now.

“What do you know about the coup? Meagan - Meagan Foster, the captain of the ship that brought me here - told me what she could, but it isn’t much,” Corvo says.

The bathroom door opens, startling them both, and Rinaldo sticks his head out. “Did you say Meagan Foster?”

“Outsider’s eyes, Rinaldo,” Rulfio says; Daud can picture his exact expression from the exasperation in his voice.

Corvo tenses. “Yes. Do you know her?”

“Uh,” Rinaldo says, dragging the syllable out as his gaze flicks from Corvo to Daud and back again. “Maybe?” He ducks back into the room. “Is that name familiar to you, Rulfio?”

“Oh no, _you_ brought it up,” Rulfio says. Rinaldo flinches back into the main living area, dodging a kick, and Rulfio slams the door in his face.

“Who is she.” Daud’s tone makes clear that it isn’t a question.

Rinaldo straightens up instinctively, though he still looks sheepish. “Well, you know, you said you didn’t want us to keep track of Billie, so. We just decided not to tell you when she showed up on a ship called _The Dreadful Wale_ with Sokolov a while ago?”

Corvo huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “Is there anyone else involved that you used to know that I should know about?”

“Unless Granny Rags actually unlocked the secret to immortality, no.”

“How many people did you say the Outsider had marked, eight?” Corvo frowned. “At worst, that’s four others we have to deal with before we get to Delilah.”

“Assuming the Outsider hasn’t found any other _fascinating_ specimens in, oh, fifteen years.”

“There’s the ray of sunshine I know and love.” Corvo smiles faintly.

“That’s my line, you sarcastic shit,” Daud retorts, but he can’t keep himself from smiling back, leaning forward to press his forehead to Corvo’s and just— breathe.

Rinaldo bangs loudly on the bathroom door. “Rulfio! Let me back in before I’m blinded by things my innocent eyes weren’t meant to see!”

“Daud would never,” Rulfio said, voice muffled but the distinct lack of sympathy in it obvious.

Why does Daud keep these idiots around? He heaves a sigh and steps back from Corvo. “Let’s join up with Billie, then. Maybe she’ll have more patience for their stupidity.”


End file.
